15. Desert Dunes
Desert Dunes
O utside the Midnight Railway’s Everlore University Gate, the day was only starting to open her eyes like she had snoozed her alarm for the third time. The sky was a beautiful shade of periwinkle blue with the sun still close to the horizon. A fog had settled over the Everlore Commons in misty layers like sheets coming down onto a bed being made. Through it, I could see the morning dew twinkling like daytime stars. The air tasted crisp and new. I filled my lungs with it, feeling energized.
This is one of the many things I loved about mornings like this. There were so few people on my commute. Even in the Commons, there weren’t any students or faculty. The world was so quiet, peaceful, and full of opportunities. You could feel the carpe diem in the air. I wasn’t even a morning person, but the joy of it just felt contagious.
I tightened my grip around my thick coat’s collar and scarf as I continued on. The early morning chill of False Fall that refused to end had hit me before I had even left the condo. For the first time in my life, I had slept in a hoodie, sweats, and with my windows closed. I was still freezing in spite of all of that and all the blankets I had on top of me. The warmth from my extra hot shower was just enough to carry me to the slightly heated station. Now, the chill returned, but the tiny seed of thrill in my belly wasn’t assuaged as I came on the other side of the Commons.
The Archive was unassuming, small, and quaint as I came before it. This close, I could see the ivy snaking its way up the red brick and white stone. The numerous stained glass windows evenly spaced on each side were works of art all their own. The detail on each one were so minute and intricate. It was a wonder that the creator of them was able to use pieces of glass so small. But their colors were in shades that I couldn’t describe with their vibrancy. The only thing better than the details and the color were the scenes they were depicting. Stories of the origins of various supernatural creatures and major events in supernatural history were told on them. The first vampire, the first coven of witches, the first shifter pack, how Atlantis was founded, when fae were discovered, and more were displayed. My personal favorite scene was one of the ones toward the front, showing a group of women with long pointed ears dancing in a meadow of flowers. It was the most colorful of all the windows with the girls having a variety of skin colors and the flowers being a rainbow of color. The result was a kaleidoscope dancing on the sidewalk as the early sun’s rays hit it just so. The sunlight bouncing off the roof’s glass dome and next to all the colors made me feel like I was walking around the inside of a diamond.
Gods, I loved this place. Just seeing the outside of the Archive was enough to brighten my spirits on the days when I was down.
But the real magic was inside.
The glass doors of the entrance slid open on my approach, and I was engulfed in cozy warmth that melted all the cold I was feeling. The smell of books and coffee surrounded me. But all of that wasn’t what took my breath away. No, the same thing that always made me breathless every day I worked did that.
Setting foot into the Archive was like walking out of the wardrobe from The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe and out to the other side. It was hard to overstate her size inside. The Archive Library was a spacious open circular room, all beautiful dark wooden furniture and faux grass flooring throughout that almost felt like the real thing. Twelve floors with balconies overlooked its center. Bookcases lined the walls from the floor to the ceiling on each level. Elevators on either side of the Archive could take patrons to any of the floors above except for a select few that only management could access. The ceiling overheard was ever-changing every day. Today, it was a sunny blue sky with a bright neon galaxy with clouds of brilliant stars dazzling across it. The scene reminded me of late night neon signs that remained alight even during the day. It was the perfect combination of night and day.
At the center of the Library, a giant tree as tall as a Sequoia stood, reaching beyond the ceiling with branches even disappearing into the galaxy above. The trunk was wider than the General Sherman tree in California. The tree’s roots formed the main circulation desk that encircled her trunk with flourishing flora and fauna. Her roots also formed the eight long, large tables that stretched from the desk to the edges of the Library as well as the smaller tables in between. The long branches of the tree stretched all over the library. Some formed the bookcases all around and the railings of the balconies. Some pushed carts and placed materials back home on the shelves. Books, scripts, pages, scrolls, and other works that were returned, had been placed on hold, or just returning to their shelves flew all around like birds. The magic in the Archive was as palpable as the depth of her history, even though I had been working here for over ten years.
The Archive Library was not only among the oldest libraries in the world, but she was the oldest living library in the United States with some of the oldest materials in existence. Centuries upon centuries ago, women built the Library for women for the sake of preserving works by women, folks of color, members of the LGBTQIA+ community, and other “others.” It was once a sacred place, a shelter, where only women or outcasts could set foot. Witches blessed the walls to ensure their safety and the lasting security of the Archive. They breathed life into the Archive so that even if they weren’t able to protect her, she would always be able to hold her own. Ancient magic flowed through every part of her from her bookcases to her books and even the technology within her. With their powerful spells, runes, and hexes, they gave her an identity, personality, thoughts, intelligence, and desires, so she could always think one step ahead and nurture her patrons with her knowledge. While the Archive had no actual voice, she was able to speak in her own way. Time passed, the Library started to open her doors to others who didn’t need protection from society. When Everlore and Blackbell were built around her, she welcomed the newcomers to learn from her. But somehow, it always felt like the Archive never forgot where she came from and never would.
Gods, she was the epitome of an icon, and I couldn’t be more of a stan if I wanted to be. The Archive Library was my home, always and forever.
“Welcome to the ‘Hive,” a voice muttered behind the circulation desk, and I resisted the urge to shake my head. On top of assuming he was some genius when he read at a fifth-grade reading level at best, Ethan was a lazy asshole. He always found a way to do the bare minimum, which somehow got the job done but also inconvenienced me at the same time.
“Good morning, Ethan! I hope it’s okay I’m here early. I have some research to do.” As I approached the waist-high roots of the circulation desk, just enough of them sank into the floor to allow me behind the desk before returning to where they were before.
“It’s whatever. I was ready to go, anyway.” He sneered my way before setting his phone down to start packing up his things. Ethan was tall and lanky, all limbs with only a little muscle. I think he had put on his resting bitch face so much his face was frozen that way.
“Okaaaay.” I took off my backpack purse from my shoulders before taking off my coat and scarf. I put it over my arm as I waited for him to gather his things. “Did you count the cash in the register? And update the computers?”
“I think I know how to do my job, Byrd.” He rolled his eyes as he stood to leave.
“Cool! See you later! Have a good rest of your day!” I said to his back as he left the building. I shook my head and rolled my shoulders to relieve some of the tension his presence always caused me.
A branch from above stretched down and passed me a large black to-go cup of hot coffee. I took it, looking at it questioningly. Then I noticed Journee’s logo on the sleeve and couldn’t help but smile. I took a sip of it, the taste sweet, toasty, delicious, and homey. It was like I was drinking a baked sweet potato with roasted marshmallows on top. I closed my eyes and hummed with pure bliss. The branch twirled one of my locs, making me giggle before returning to its position above me.
“You looked like you needed that,” Journee called while they wiped the counter of Journee Made Coffee and Bistro. Journee was tall and athletic in build, with dark olive skin. As always, their face was glittery and golden with thick eyeliner behind their long eyelashes and a dark eye and lip that was still somehow vibrant in color. Their long, thick black hair was in a ponytail that trailed down their back but still didn’t hide the sky blue peekaboo color of the lower half of their hair. Their undercolor matched the blue and white vertical striped button down they wore tucked into their ripped jeans. Journee always had an air of mischief about them, along with an ever-present smile on their face. It’s one of the things that made them fun to be around.
Well, that and the fact that they always knew your bistro order and what you needed at any time.
“This is perfect as always, Jo! Thank you so much!”
Journee waved before going to check on something out of my line of sight behind the circulation desk.
I took another sip of my coffee before I got to work. There was no one in the library this early. Of course, it was also Monday, and our Tuesday mornings just tended to be busier. I checked that Ethan had done his closing duties—shock to no one, he hadn’t. Or he had done just enough for them to be considered done but also enough for them to be done incorrectly. I rolled my eyes, but I made quick work of finishing and correcting his tasks and completing my early morning ones.
I was wiping the last long table with Pledge when my phone buzzed in my back pocket:
QUEENIE ??
Good morning, sweetness. How do you feel about surprises? ??
I raised an eyebrow and replied:
ME
I freaking ?love? surprises. What are you planning? Is it big?
The three dots were quick to appear and disappear as a new text popped up:
QUEENIE ??
Nice try, but it’s a surprise, you silly goose.
QUEENIE ??
Your only hint is that it’s for your birthday. It’s in a couple of weeks, right?
ME
It is indeed! How do you know I don’t have anything planned already?
Every year, Simone and Maisie planned a huge surprise birthday trip for me. Growing up, Mom and Pops had turned birthdays into holidays for me. Each month revolved around whoever’s birthday it was: July twenty-fourth for my mom, August eleventh for Everett, September third for Pops, September twenty-fourth for me, and November twenty-seventh for Aunt Max. We would go all out, planning trips, parties, whatever the birthday king or queen wanted to do. They had to take off from work or school that day, and they had to be spoiled. Mom always said birthdays are the one day of the year where you are supposed to be selfish while celebrating everything you. That’s why people say happy birthday, to wish you happiness , she used to say. When Mom, Pops, and Aunt Max died, Everett tried to keep the traditions going by organizing camping trips and shopping sprees, but it was still missing something. When Simone and Maisie volunteered to start doing it, things started small at first, like a game where I had three minutes to get one-hundred-sixty dollars worth of books or throw a dart at a city within eighteen-hundred miles for us to explore. But they soon grew into so much more as we got jobs and grander ideas. Since, we have done everything from seeing a Broadway show in New York City to touring Hollywood, California to going on a steak and barbecue tour in Texas. The duo strived to improve year after year to make my birthday even better than the last. I’m sure for my twenty-eighth they had no intentions of stopping.
QUEENIE ??
I have my ways. ??
QUEENIE ??
I hope you love it though and it’s not too much.
ME
I have big Main Character Energy and a flair for the extra. Nothing you surprise me with could ever be too much, babe. So, don’t hold back. ??
QUEENIE ??
Careful what you wish for, baby girl. ??
I knew I was smiling down at my phone like a total goofball when I heard the Archive’s doors open. I looked up to see Maisie and Simone enter.
Simone immediately squealed when she saw my outfit. “Look at you, you fashion icon! You look so educated! Definitely the cutest librarian I’ve ever seen!”
“Oh, thank you! You two look absolutely gorgeous, too,” I returned, admiring my outfit and theirs. I had honestly dressed more for function over fashion today—a first for me—wanting to bundle and dress warmly for the day. I hadn’t been able to shake being cold all weekend, and I doubted that being at work would resolve that. So, even though I was usually never cold at work, I put on my thickest navy turtleneck sweater—which was not that thick given my winter wardrobe was built around Georgia winters—and a pair of yellow and brown wool plaid pants and brown cowgirl ankle boots. To bring the look together, I “borrowed” one of Everett’s turquoise Texas bolos and put it under the turtleneck part along with my obsidian pendant. I planned to keep it until he mentioned it was missing. I knew he never would.
Fashion was always one of the many things that brought me and the girls together. I had grown up with a mom who had an outfit for every occasion and never wore the same thing twice. Our bonding had been shopping on the weekends and visiting malls during vacations. My mom had instilled in me how powerful a good outfit could be. Naturally, it would be what made me friends. Complimenting each other’s outfits were the first words we said to each other when we met, and it was a habit that stuck to this day. For us, our unique fashion senses were more than clothes. They showed our personalities and made us fall in love with each other, knowing we were going to be besties for ages.
Today, Simone’s green curls were pulled back by a colorful bandana with a few stray curls framing each side of her face. She wore a creamy sweater with teal corduroy overall shorts, black tights, and dark brown ankle boots. Maisie wore a black crop sweater with ripped jeans and white sneakers. Her layered silver ombre hair was clipped in a half up and half down style. Her makeup was dark and heavy around her almond eyes and full lips. Her piercings glittered in the sunny light of the library.
Suddenly, I heard rustling from the Archive’s tree above us. Two branches swooped over toward Journee’s counter and grabbed a drink carrier with two iced drinks in it and a to-go bag. They brought them over and dropped them into Maisie’s and Simone’s waiting hands.
Simone plucked one of the cups out of the carrier. It was an iced matcha tea latte made with macadamia milk and a few pumps of salted caramel. She squealed with delight. “Oh my goodness! Did Journee make us coffee and breakfast?”
Maisie grabbed her iced pumpkin spice latte and sipped it immediately. Her eyes rolled back. “I’m a real basic witch because I’m a whore for a PSL.”
Simone picked up the bag from Maisie’s hand and set it down on the table to open it and take a peek. The smell of fresh bagels hit me, and my mouth started to water instantly. I knew without looking in the bag that Journee had made our favorite variety of bagels including everything, seven cheese, maple pepper bacon, and onion and herb. I was sure they had tossed in their own homemade herb butter and fruity honey cream cheese blend.
“Journee, I freaking love you so much I could kiss you,” I called.
“I have that effect on people. Love you, too, though!” They called out.
“Do y’all mind making me a bagel while I get the book?” I said as I headed back to the circulation desk.
“You don’t even have to ask, shugs,” Maisie said, already using her purple magic to split three bagels and smear spreads on each.
“You know I will, anyway!”
When I returned to the circulation desk, I bent down to get my backpack purse under the desk. I pulled the book out of it. The book was still light in my hands, just awkward to grip with one hand because of its thickness. I clung to it as I stood and made my way back over to the girls. My necklace heated again with the proximity of the book. I still felt such a pull from this book. I wanted to hold it the whole commute to the Archive, to feel its cover, to caress its splayed edges, to admire my mom’s handwriting still present on the page asking me that question that was written onto my soul at this point.
Do you want to know the truth, my baby Byrd?
The thought made me grip it even tighter and closer against me.
I arrived at the table Simone and Maisie had picked to set up. It was one of the long tables close to the circulation desk. Maisie had already assembled our favorite bagels with spreads in front of our seats. Simone had notebooks and pens set up for each of us for any notes we needed to take. She also had a speaker quietly playing Lorde radio, her favorite to read to. I nodded to them both.
“Okay, dolls, let’s do the damn thing.” I opened the book to the back cover and set the book down in front of us. Then I looked up toward the branches reaching to the blue sky and the galaxy of stars sparkling inside. “Archive, please send us everything you have about runes and the witches who write them.”
For a long moment, the Archive was silent, almost eerily so. The sounds of flapping papers quieted. The rustling of the branches and leaves were nonexistent in the air. Even Journee’s various machines stopped brewing and baking for the briefest moment as if to listen for what the Archive sent. The entire Library stilled with bated breath.
Then the sound of a book sliding from the shelves nearby on the main floor. And another. And yet another. Soon, books were flying above us. They swirled around, fluttering like a migration of butterflies in the sky. It was a stunning dance, a show of wonderful magic that took my breath away. And then, without much more ceremony, the books gracefully dropped onto the large and sturdy table. Each book stacked onto the last until the tower grew too tall to be safe and then a new stack would be made beside it, and the process would start over again. They surrounded the three of us, stretching down the table. Gods, it had to have been at least a hundred books with more steadily incoming. By the time the last book landed, our jaws were on the floor. Journee whistled from behind her counter at the daunting task before us.
I took a long swig of my coffee before holding my hand out before me. A book somersaulted from the nearest tower and landed with its spine in my palm. One of the Archive’s branches pulled the chair out for me to sit. Simone and Maisie grabbed their own books, and we got started. Caffeinated with the best bagels in the world nearby, we were energized and hopeful that we would find something, some answers, at last.
T he sound of Simone’s head hitting the open book in front of her was not only loud enough to reverberate throughout the empty library, but also to almost knock over her iced matcha. Without looking at the tipping cup and staring at the ceiling with her chair tipped back, Maisie flicked her finger toward the cup to right it and save the books.
Maisie leaned her chair forward and sighed. “I’m a witch, and I feel like I know way too much about witches right now.”
I chuckled softly before it became a groan. “All these books and absolutely nothing again .”
“No similar runes. No similar spells. No similar anything to this. It’s another dead end.” Simone raised her head from the open book, the exhaustion and boredom clear on her well-highlighted face.
I shook my head slowly. It was another wall between me and my mom, another obstacle, another dead end. Ha . I almost wanted to laugh in spite of myself at my words. My mom had been taken away from me over fourteen years ago. At this point, I had been alive longer in a world without her than a world where she was my center, my everything. That truth alone hit me hard enough for me to have to blink back tears. When she was ripped from me, so were all her secrets, all her stories, all her life including her past. They were all gone. She was gone. No matter how hard I tried to dig up something to find out more about her, to feed this gnawing hunger I had for anything to solve the mystery of her, there would always be something to stop me. Even now, with a book that had my mom’s handwriting in it, asking me if I wanted to know the truth, I couldn’t read it to find out more. I was stuck. I would never be able to get past any of this, now would I?
Do you want to know the truth, my baby Byrd?
More than you could ever know, Mom.
“No, no. There has to be something . There has to be.” I stared at the book, specifically at the rune that had been vexing me, Maisie, and Simone since we first saw it on Saturday. I still felt that draw to the book, to its pages. It was a tug that pulled me in, like finding just the perfect thing at a thrift store and just having to buy it. I put my hand on the rune. My necklace warmed further at my touch of the book. Using only my fingertips, I traced the indent of the ink on the page and the cover.
Wait.
What was that ?
I could feel something. It was faint, pulsating softly like a tiny heartbeat, but it was there. I felt it. I almost second-guessed myself, but the obsidian started to hum in harmony with whatever I felt, sending waves of heat throughout my chest. How? How did none of us feel this the other night?
I scooted my chair from the table so suddenly the Archive’s branch had to save it from clattering to the floor. I picked up the book and walked around to the other side where Maisie and Simone were sitting. Even I could hear the quiver in my voice as I asked. “Hey, Maze? Do you feel this?
The glaze in Simone’s eyes cleared as interest took its place. “Feel what ?”
Maisie stood and placed her hand on the rune, just like I had done a few moments before. She frowned, her eyebrows knitting together in thought and confusion. “Why didn’t I feel this before?”
“Feel what before? What’s there?”
Maisie handed the book to Simone, who put her hand on the rune like me and Maisie had done.
“I don’t feel anything. What am I supposed to feel?”
“It’s magic,” Maisie answered. “It feels like a pulse coming from the page.”
“Magic? I thought that all runes have magic in them by design, so aren’t they all supposed to feel like that?”
“They do have magic in a way,” Maisie said. “But that magic is embedded in the pages or whatever has been spelled.” She glanced at me. “ You shouldn’t be able to feel it. It shouldn’t be this powerful at all.”
I grabbed the pendant. Warmth still rippled from it, feeling stronger as I felt the bite of the stone in my grip.
“So, what does that mean?” Simone asked.
“No fucking idea.” Maisie and I sighed at the same time. Maisie laid the book flat on the table once again.
Simone pursed her lips. “Well, there has to be something we missed here. Did we miss something in these books?”
Maisie shook her head, while I replied, “No, there’s no way.”
“How? Why not?”
“We read through all these books and found nothing in anything we read. These were all the books the Archive had on runes and the witches who cast them. If there were more books, the Archive would have sent them. The Archive never fails in sending the right books. It literally cannot. It’s not possible.”
“So, our answers aren’t in a book?” Simone asked. “The Archive has every book about supernaturals ever written or transcribed. If none of it is here, then where else could they be?”
Outside, the Everlore Clocktower rang out eight times to mark the time across campus. The white sun blazing above us and the Archive’s tree stretched her white rays out across the Library, ready to start her day.
That’s right, I am indeed employed and have a job to do.
At the Archive, I always found it so easy to lose track of time and sink into another world, a bubble away from the chaos outside of her doors. The past three hours were no different. I had dived deep into researching. Now, I was coming up for air.
But I was in a new spot in the water.
And I was very, very far from shore.
I felt no more relieved than I had when I started.
To the right of the main desk, more coffee finished brewing as well as an assortment of teas that would magically stay hot or cold for customers. The machines cleaned themselves, never staying dirty for longer than a few seconds before a rag surrounded by Journee’s cerulean magic got to them. Two more baristas had long since arrived to start help prepping for the shop’s busy hours. Journee was working hard to get all of their homemade baked goods, desserts, and other snacks out of their ovens and into the displays on either side of the counter. As each oven opened, the Archive filled with the scents of muffins, cakes, breads, and coffee beans. It smelled like my happy place, especially mixed with the smell of old books and ink. Even as anxiety swirled in my stomach over the book, the Archive still managed to give me a shred of peace.
“Lookie what I got, girlies!” Simone approached the table with three cups in her hands, each labeled with our names and orders written in black chicken-scratch that was barely legible. She sat down Maisie’s hot lavender latte and my hot dirty chai tea in front of us before taking a sip of her iced nutella macchiato.
I squealed with glee, loving the sight of the pick-me-up. “Thank you so much, doll!”
“I figured we all needed a lift after the bummer of a morning we just had! Plus, Maisie, that barista was a cutie pie!” Simone winked.
Maisie glanced over toward the Journee Made Coffee and Bistro where there was a handsome guy wiping down the counter. She raised an eyebrow. “Oh, he definitely gives Big Dick Energy. I would love to see what he can brew in his offtime.”
I laughed. “What about Cody?”
“It’s always good to have a roster of all-stars, Byrdie, rather than rely on just one MVP.”
“Well, speaking of Bad Boy Cody?—”
“Oh, that name is not allowed to stick.” Maisie scrunched her nose.
Simone ignored her. “I, of course, have been talking to Cole. He said he and the cousins had so much fun with us this weekend, and they can’t wait for another date! They are making some plans for all of us to spend time together after they finish selling a house down in Florida.”
“Ew, Florida,” Maisie grimaced. “Didn’t they just sell a house there? That’s how you met Cole, right?”
“I guess there’s a lot of prime real estate there. Who knows?” Simone shrugged.
“Well, I’m excited to get to hang out again. Thursday and Friday were so freaking fun!” I said. “Anyway, what are you two going to do now for the rest of today since we got nowhere with this?” I gestured around the table toward all the books opened and stacked before us and the book still showing the rune. Even looking toward it made me so frustrated I could cry. I closed it to ignore it better.
“Honestly, this feels like the trend for everything lately. My Doctorate has been the absolute struggle. I have to do some stuff for it today,” Maisie answered.
“Same!” Simone said. “I have some homework for my masters, but I also have some stuff to do for work! We all can’t complete our masters while completing our bachelors and securing our dream career.”
“You’re right. We all can’t.” I playfully shrugged and smiled as I stood up to approach the circulation desk.
While the girls were laughing at my braggadocious joke, the sound like stiletto heels resounded through the library. Of course, I knew the noise was far from a heeled Louis Vuitton—although they probably cost the same amount, if not more for the upkeep.
Outside of the supernatural bubble, humans presumed that the world was full of just vampires, werewolves, witches, and ghosts. Maybe some well-read humans added fairies to that list. Still, they didn’t think those creatures were real. No, they belonged in stories, folklore, myth, legend, and teen romance novels in their world. They couldn’t exist in the real world. Yet, I was always astonished that humans could be so right and so wrong all at once. Their myths, legends, and folklore were all true, and they didn’t even see the creatures to write and speak about them—they didn’t even know they existed—while passing that down through the generations.
So it was with my boss, the Director of Library and Patron Services. Well, she was definitely much more than a boss, but that’s another story. Rhois was a Baobhan Sith, a Scottish creature of legend and myth. In “ye olden” days, her kind would allegedly lure young hunters in by inviting them to dance around a fire until they grew too exhausted to overpower her people. According to legend, they didn’t care much about seeking power, wealth, or youth—they received all of that almost naturally with their otherworldly beauty, magical abilities, and immortality. They only cared about feeding. Back then, her kind were thought to be just fae. But they were so much more than that; they were a combination of a vampire, fairy, and a shifter. They fed and drained their victims of blood, but they lacked fangs in favor of using their long, sharp fingernails to slit the necks of their victims. Thus, Rhois’s always long, beautiful stiletto claws. They were fearful of horses and iron just like fairies were, but they didn’t have any wings like the fae. They were not controlled by the moon like shifters, but they could turn into wolves to flee or fight. To top it all off—or, to get to the bottom of things in a way—stories weaved tales of women who hid the hooves they had instead of feet under long dresses.
But I had never heard anything in the lore I’ve studied about Baobhan Siths having designer, expensive horseshoes to adorn their hooves like Rhois always did.
Rhois was always two things at once. Both timeless and modern, legendary and completely brand new, young like the latest trend and ageless like a being trapped in amber, and down-to-earth and otherworldly. Rhois was insanely tall, at least six-foot-seven, if not more. She was white, pale, with a constant, warm glowing tone to her skin. Her auburn hair fell past her shoulders in a natural, effortless curl many would pay hundreds to have for just a few hours that she easily woke up with. Her face was speckled with freckles, and she had full, permanently red lips. She also had stark, teal-green eyes. Today, she wore a navy blue set of floor-length pants and a matching bandeau top. A light sky blue cape-style coat was draped over her shoulders with a stunning multi-layered silver necklace and matching earrings and several rings across her fingers. Honestly, every time Rhois set foot into the Archive Library, I always wondered if this was what it was like being in the presence of a celebrity or royalty.
Rhois’s perfectly manicured hands overflowed with scrolls upon scrolls. Stacks of books floated behind her along with large stacks of loose pages. Some pages strayed off the stacks and flapped like birds after her.
“Good morning, babes!” Rhois sang in her deep Scottish-accented voice as she neared the circulation desk. “Wasn’t expecting to see all of you darlings this early on a Monday after a party!”
“They decided to come with me to work! What’s all this?” I asked before sipping my coffee behind the desk. The books and papers landed softly on the desk in neat little stacks. The materials looked ancient and worn. Some of their spines were labeled with titles that filled the entirety of the spine. Other spines had titles in foreign languages I didn’t even recognize. Others had symbols that looked like runes or were empty of words. The pages ranged from regular modern white paper to weathered tea-colored papyrus with words or graphics written in everything from kohl ink to typed words. The scrolls lifted from Rhois’s arms one-by-one to rest near the books and pages. They were obviously older than the books and papers. Dust delicately swirled from them, tickling my nose and coming close to making me sneeze. Still, I smiled at the soft smell of old papers and ink.
Rhois propped her head on her entwined hands and fluttered her long dark lashes, another fabulous part of her that people would pay hundreds, if not thousands, to get as extensions. “Ask me about my weekend, mo wee hen!”
I beamed. “How was your weekend, Ro-ro?”
“Beautiful!” Rhois sang again. “I got some of the loveliest ancient materials about old indigenous magic and creatures. Can you believe they would just keep it locked away from prying eyes in the base of some ol’ university? After they stole it to begin with, too? Unbelievable!”
“Oh, I can believe it. Gotta love colonialism.” Maisie rolled her eyes.
“That’s amazing that you are able to collect history like that, Dr. Dubhglas. That sounds like my dream job!”
“I told you already, princess. Once you finish that masters degree of yours, give me a call. I have plenty of connections in archival preservations who would adore you. Also, you can call me Rhois. I like you, cuties.”
I plucked a scroll that appeared to be at least a few centuries old to peruse. “Oh, the Archive is going to love these!”
“Indeed! She does love new additions, don’t you, ol’ lass?” The leaves above of the Archive’s tree rustled from a particularly rambunctious round of wind. I had to hold the loose papers so they didn’t swirl around. But there was a joy to the breeze that reminded me of the natural magic of a dirt devil on a sunny day.
“I can’t wait to catalogue these and add them to the Library’s inventory!” I carefully moved the materials to the lower level of the desk for me to take care of later.
Rhois finally fully noticed our set-up on the long table near the front desk, and she walked over out of curiosity. She took in the tomes on witchcraft and runes and my book sitting at the center of the bookish skyscrapers.
“What’s all this now? I haven’t seen you in front of this many books, Byrdie, since that archaeological dig of King Tut’s tomb. We brought in oh so many, many ancient scrolls that year.” Rhois smiled nostalgically, and I chuckled as Ro-Ro’s eyes glazed over with the fond memory. Gods, we had been almost buried under those hundreds of scrolls and loosely bound scraps of papyrus and kohl ink. I will never forget the woody, dry, earthy, and spicy scent that filled the library and took months to get off my clothes and even out of my locs.
I stepped from behind the main desk and picked up the book. I opened it to the rune in the back to show Rhois. “We were trying to figure this rune out. I called on all the books on runes and witches from the Archive, but I couldn’t find any information at all anywhere.”
Rhois held out her hands. I passed the book over to her, trying to swallow the feeling that surfaced. Rhois gave the book a cursory glance before she nodded with recognition.
“Aye, of course, mo wee hen. You aren’t looking at a rune . You are looking at an Archaic .”
The air around seemed to turn and shift. My stomach clenched. I felt Simone and Maisie shuffle nearby, straightening their backs and perking their ears to listen and focus. Could this be? Could this be a real breakthrough? After all the hours of research that we put into finding out something about this book?
My eyebrows furrowed. “An Archaic what now?”
Rhois chuckled, returning the book back to me. “Just Archaic, love, only one word. It’s a very, very old form of magic writing. It dates back to even before me, if you’ll believe it. Thus, the name. I thought it was an ancient art that was lost to time and no one was alive still to know how to use and apply it. But I have been wrong before, I suppose.”
“Why didn’t we find any of this in any of these books? I asked the Archive to send me all books on runes and their history.” I furrowed my brows further in confusion.
“Hmm, well,” Rhois picked up a volume from higher up on one of the stacks. She quickly peeked at it. “That’s because these books are all on witches. There isn’t a witch alive these days that can make an Archaic. It requires far too much power. What you hens need is information on fitches.”
Rhois replaced the book in the stack and started to walk back toward the circulation desk. I turned to Simone and Maisie. The three of us shared the exact same bewildered, narrowed eyes, furrowed eyebrows, and dropped jaws.
We quickly followed Rhois toward her office located behind the main desk within the tree’s trunk. At the same time, we all asked over each other:
“Come again?”
“Beg your pardon?”
“I’m so sorry, what was that?”
Rhois turned around just before the entrance to the circulation desk, meeting our confusion with some of her own. “Fitches? Witch-Fae? I can never remember which one they choose to call themselves, but it’s definitely one of those.”
“What are witch-fae exactly?” Maisie questioned.
“You lot truly don’t know? You especially?” Rhois directed to Maisie. “They don’t teach this in schools at all?”
“Dr. Du—I mean, Rhois. I’m getting my literal Doctorate in Witchcraft. I have no idea what in the fresh hell you’re talking about.”
“Hmmm, well, well, well,” Rhois continued to make her way into her office with the three of us in tow behind her. Rhois’s office was just like everything else within the Archive: bespelled and deceptively large compared to its outside. Her office was the size of most regular boardrooms with beautiful furniture and finishes that were both medieval but also somehow timeless. She placed her bag down in one of the two chairs in front of her massive desk. She bent over to turn on her computer.
“I don’t know that much about witches and the like. Being what I am, a vampire-shifter-fairy of sorts, I’m sure you can understand why that might be. We don’t tend to be the best of friends. But I can tell you the little I picked up throughout the centuries.”
Rhois straightened her back to face us head-on and cleared her throat. “Witch-fae are just as the name implies, the product of a witch and a fairy. They are quite powerful beings, being a blend of the two most powerful beings of the magical world. They date back to antiquity—maybe even before then—to a world where humans feared the dark, unknown, and unseen. At one point, like a lot of supernaturals, they were worshiped, or at the very least respected. Vampires had the world before the Industrial Revolution—or, now, arguably. Shifters had Rome. Witches had the Medieval Age and are rising to take their power back once again. But these reigns all have to come to an end as all things inevitably do, even if they are due to start back up again. I can’t remember if it was a plague or something, but last I heard, the witch-fae were all wiped out. That book in your hands, Byrdie, is the first I’ve seen of a fitch since… maybe before the Salem Witch Trials ironically? At the latest perhaps?”
My jaw dropped once more, but I allowed that to sink in for a moment. I gripped the book tightly against my chest, suddenly even more protective of it than I ever was before.
“So, why can’t we summon books about these fitches or witch-fae or whatever? Shouldn’t some books have appeared when Byrd asked for them?” I glanced over at Maisie as she asked. She was clearly just as shocked and confused as me, but she was at least able to form coherent words to ask the same questions I had.
“The Archive protects endangered species, especially those that have been attacked in the past or made extinct. You will not find any books on them to look over or browse out here. Those are housed elsewhere and magicked away from the public to maintain the safety of the creatures they impact.”
“But… h-how can that be?” I stuttered out at last, my voice barely above a whisper as I still struggled to process what I was hearing.
“How could what be, mo wee hen?”
“Well, this is… It’s just…” I choked back my emotions fighting to surface. I sighed and resolved myself to just spit it all out. “There’s no way that’s possible because this is a book I found that has my mom’s handwriting in it. I think it’s my book. Or at least, it’s meant for me from my mom. What I mean to say is that it can’t possibly date back as far as you said. It just can’t.”
“Oh, my darling babe.” Rhois covered her mouth. Her eyes glistened on the brink of tears. If anyone knew how much this meant to me, it was Rhois. Like I said, she was more than a boss to me. “Have you tried to speak to Everett about this? Where did you find this book?”
“We found it while he was going through some stuff he was going to donate, but I have never seen this book before now. I literally have no idea where it came from. And it’s magicked so Everett can’t even see it and he gets so fucking weird when I ask about it, Ro-Ro. I just… I just want to find out more about it.”
Rhois shook her head. “Oh, my dear. Bless your heart. But I’m the last person you should be talking to about any of this. Like I said, witchcraft and witch-fae are not my wheelhouse. You had better take this to the one upstairs.”
“Not sure God is listening in on this. Seems kinda blasphemous by His book, I think,” Simone said, scrunching her eyebrows.
I smiled in spite of myself and the whole situation. A feeling of giddiness starting to take the place of the stress in my gut. “No, she doesn’t mean Him, Sea. She means a she, actually.”